GILBEY. [sitting down and grumblingly adjusting his
spectacles] This is what he says. “My
dear Mr Gilbey: The news about Bobby had to
follow me across the Atlantic: it did not reach
me until to-day. I am afraid he is incorrigible.
My brother, as you may imagine, feels that this last
escapade has gone beyond the bounds; and I think,
myself, that Bobby ought to be made to feel that such
scrapes involve a certain degree of reprobation.”
“As you may imagine”! And we know
no more about it than the babe unborn.

MRS GILBEY. What else does he say?

GILBEY. “I think my brother must have
been just a little to blame himself; so, between ourselves,
I shall, with due and impressive formality, forgive
Bobby later on; but for the present I think it had
better be understood that he is in disgrace, and that
we are no longer on visiting terms. As ever,
yours sincerely.” [His agitation masters him
again] Thats a nice slap in the face to get from a
man in his position! This is what your son has
brought on me.

MRS GILBEY. Well, I think it’s rather
a nice letter. He as good as tells you hes only
letting on to be offended for Bobby’s good.

GILBEY. Oh, very well: have the letter
framed and hang it up over the mantelpiece as a testimonial.

MRS GILBEY. Dont talk nonsense, Rob. You
ought to be thankful to know that the boy is alive
after his disappearing like that for nearly a week.

GILBEY. Nearly a week! A fortnight, you
mean. Wheres your feelings, woman? It
was fourteen days yesterday.

MRS GILBEY. Oh, dont call it fourteen days,
Rob, as if the boy was in prison.

GILBEY. How do you know hes not in prison?
It’s got on my nerves so, that I’d believe
even that.

MRS GILBEY. Dont talk silly, Rob. Bobby
might get into a scrape like any other lad; but he’d
never do anything low.

Juggins, the footman, comes in with a card on a
salver. He is a rather low-spirited man of thirty-five
or more, of good appearance and address, and iron
self-command.